


Cruelty of the Innocent

by SapphyreLily



Series: Seijoh 4 Week 2017 [7]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Dryad AU, Emetophobia, Gen, Shifter AU, seijoh4week 2017, the seijou 4 are teens and older and the rest of the teams are children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 19:02:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9562388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphyreLily/pseuds/SapphyreLily
Summary: Seijoh 4 Week Day 7 - Comfort & ChildhoodThey don't know any better - they think what they're doing is fine.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is the longest piece I've written for this week. And it's chock full of angst. I am so sorry.

It’s a funny thing that they are asked, almost laughable, if not for how deeply it hurt. A question, phrased in dull tones, cadence drooping, slow and hesitating, an enquiry meant to be slightly rhetorical, because they were not supposed to reply anyway.

“What is comfort to you?”

Heads droop in silent rebuke, no one daring to answer.

But one stands, a voice raised among the rest, deep and clear and strong.

“Our childhood.”

\-----

_“Ring-a-round the rosie_

_A pocket full of posies_

_Ashes! Ashes!_

_We all fall down.”_

_The boys collapse on the ground, rolling and giggling, until an elder comes to stand over them, arms folded, imposing._

_The oldest of them hurriedly rises to his feet, bowing with a greeting, and his fellows rush to follow, though they still bubble with laughter._

_The elder sighs, creakily seating himself, and the children rush towards him, clambering into his lap with chirps of glee._

_“Irihata-sensei, tell us a story!”_

_“Sto-ry! Sto-ry!”_

_The old man waves his hands, a signal for them to quiet down, and they do so with suppressed giggling, eyes large and waiting._

_Irihata looks at them, and his heart aches with the thought of the world hurting them. But it will, and he must prepare them._

_“Have you heard the origin of your nursery rhyme?”_

_“Ring-a-round the rosie?”_

_“Yes. That one.”_

_“No.”_

_“No.”_

_“Tell us, tell us!”_

_“It’s not a happy story,” he warns, but lifts his hands anyway, painting them a picture with words and magic._

“Tooru! Tooru! Tell me the story about the nursery rhyme again!”

Oikawa sighs, a little fondly, a little with exasperation. He steps out of the tree trunk, seating himself on the bough where the owl shifter is perched. “Kou, you _know_ you’re not supposed to call me that.”

“But you called me Kou, so I’m gonna keep calling you Tooru!” The owlet shifts as he jumps, and a small child hurtles into his chest, giggling. Big yellow eyes look up at him, and he smiles despite himself.

“Just this once. If Keiji comes by and hears us, he’ll have my head.”

“I’m already here.” A smaller owlet flies up to them, shifting when he’s close enough and dropping into his lap. His eyes are unusually blue for an owl, but it’s their colour that endears all to him. “But I won’t tell if you tell us the story.”

He smiles wryly. “And what came after?”

“And what came after,” Akaashi confirms, leaning against the unoccupied side of Oikawa’s chest.

“Bah. History,” Bokuto grumbles, and Oikawa pats his hair with a laugh.

“Better to remember it now, than when your teachers ask.”

“Okay, okay. Sto-ry!”

The brunet smiles, a different set of voices echoing in his mind, and leans against the trunk as he begins.

\-----

_"It was said, back in the day–"_

_"How long, how long!"_

_"Shh, don't interrupt!"_

_"Sorry, sorry!"_

_Irihata sighs at their antics, but doesn't berate them. They are young, after all._

_"Shall I continue?"_

_"Yes, yes!"_

_"No interruptions this time?"_

_"Uhh…"_

_"No interruptions?"_

_"No…"_

_He smiles, and starts again._

"I-wa-i-zu-mi-kun!!"

He throws himself out of the trunk in a hurry, jumping to catch the errant child that decided to shift mid-air. He grunts as the weight hits him, trying to keep himself upright but losing his balance, slipping, sliding, falling–

And crashes into the bough below them, the breath knocked from his lungs.

He wheezes, but pulls himself upright, relaxing his hold on the bundle in his arms, checking the child over for any injuries.

The black-haired child titters and tries to wriggle away. “Again! Let’s do that again!”

“No.” He says firmly, tucking the boy against him as he stands. “You will not be doing that again, unless you want your elders to cut down my tree and find you another guardian.”

“Aww.”

“Well, if you’re so sure you want me dead, go ahead.”

“They won’t really chop you down.” The boy says with certainty. “It’d take too long for another sapling to grow up and take care of us!”

“Kuro.”

They turn at the sound of another voice, and a small calico cat clambers onto their branch, coming to sit at Iwaizumi’s feet. “Don’t make life difficult for Hajime.”

Kuroo pouts at his friend. “Where’s the fun if life’s not a bit difficult?”

“Go bother someone whose life isn’t in danger all the time.”

“Bah. If they fall off the tree, then Iwaizumi-kun will be in trouble anyway!”

“Play on the ground.”

“You’re no fun!”

“Yaku-san is somewhere down by the east root.”

“Ooh! Thanks, Kenma!” This time, Iwaizumi lets the squirming boy go, and he shifts mid-leap, clambering down the trunk in his more nimble form.

Iwaizumi sighs at his hijinks, sitting down with a _thump_. The calico climbs into his lap and curls up, rubbing his head against his stomach. “Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault Kuroo’s hyperactive. He needs someone to help him with that excess energy.”

“Mm.” Kenma purrs and curls up more tightly, not complaining when Iwaizumi rubs his head. “Maybe the owl shifters will have someone that can keep up with him.”

“Ah, that’s right. They’re visiting soon.”

“Mm.”

Soon, the kitten’s breathing slows and evens out, but Iwaizumi keeps stroking his fur, staring into the distance where he knows the owl shifters live.

_Will you be allowed to come with them?_

\-----

_“Many, many centuries ago, when humans were humans and not yet shifters, there was a disease that spread across the land. They called it the plague, and it killed thousands upon thousands, humans too weak and unable to protect themselves against disease._

_“The first sign of the plague was the rash on their skin, red rosy rings that itched to high heaven. Then there were the_ buboes _, the swollen glands, and if not treated, lead to water in their lungs and the vomiting of blood. A person with these last symptoms would surely die within a week.”_

_Large eyes stare at him, all laughter gone. “How did it become the rhyme?”_

_“A ring of roses for the rash, a pocket of posies to ward off the smell and hopefully prevent the disease from infecting them. Ashes for the cremated dead, so that no one else could catch it, and if you’re dead,” he pauses for effect, “You would all fall down.”_

“Another, another!”

Hanamaki groans, but reaches towards the branch, running his fingers across its surface, cupping a section and _pulling_.

He lifts his hand to reveal a cherry blossom bud, its petals tightly closed. The child beside him pouts and hammers on his arm. “Bloom! Make it bloom!”

“Hinata,” he begins wearily, “If I try to make that bloom before its time, I’m going to die. I’m so tired.”

“But you made the others bloom!”

“I’m _tired_ ,” he repeats, hoisting the boy into his lap and dropping his chin on his head. “Give me a break, you stamina monster.”

“Hana–”

“Please let me rest,” he mumbles. “Go play with Kageyama or something.”

“Tobio’s mean to me!”

“Then find Sugawara.”

“But Suga-san's out with Daichi-san today! They went to see the big white birds!”

“Oh?” He perks up a little at that. “The water birds?”

“Uh-huh! They said they were gonna ask to teach us to hunt!”

Hanamaki laughs at the mental image of swans and crows interacting. “I’m sure.”

“Hana! You don’t believe me!”

“Sure I do. But the swans are so much bigger than you,” he teases.

Hinata pouts and kicks against him. “I can fly higher!”

“They’re water birds, they don’t need to fly high.”

“I don’t care! I’m gonna beat them!”

“Hinata.” A deep voice from below makes them look, and the child scrambles off him in excitement, jumping off the branch and shifting mid-air.

“Daichi-san!”

The older crow pecks lightly at him, steering him back to the safety of the branch. Hanamaki sighs in relief, half-hanging off his branch to watch them.

There is a small weight on his back, and he twists round to see a crow with grey plumage grooming itself. He smiles. “Sugawara.”

“Hello, Hanamaki.” The crow hops onto his head, gently parting his hair as if he is grooming him. “How many flowers did Hinata make you bloom today?”

“Too many,” he groans. “I’m ready to die.”

The crow squawks his laughter before returning to his task. “Well, Daichi can take over your job now.”

“Thank you. Now please let me sleep.”

“Not yet,” Suga chirps, pecking him softly. “You need to be ready, we’re visiting the swans in two days.”

“That’s too soon.” Hanamaki thinks of all the spells and wards he needs to prepare for his charges, and regrets not preparing more in advance.

“We’ll be staying with them for a month. You’re allowed to stay with their dryad during that time.”

“Oh?” He perks up at once, recalling the dryad who serves them. “That’ll be fun.”

“You’re supposed to swap techniques while we’re there.”

“Sure, sure. No problem.”

He drops his head back on the branch, looking towards the lake.

_Two days. Two days._

\-----

_“That’s a sad story.”_

_There are whispers of agreement all around, and Irihata can’t help but sigh._

_“It’s a warning.”_

_He had their attention again, and from the commotion behind him, he had to make it quick._

_“A warning?”_

“Matsu! Matsu!” A cygnet – his plumage a funny red, like he had gone dipping in red algae – flaps up to him, perching on his toes, wings beating up a storm. “They’re here, they're here!”

Matsukawa smiles – a serene smile, his mask – and scoops the cygnet up, bringing him to eye level. “Tendou, you know you’re supposed to greet them in human form.”

The bird huffs and shifts, leaving Matsukawa to catch his decidedly different form. “Carry me!”

“Tendou. You’re the oldest.”

“Don’t care. Until Tsutomu gets here, you're carrying me!”

He snorts and shifts the boy onto one hip, supporting him easily. “You’re going to need to grow out of this.”

“Nah. Unless Washijou-sensei says something, I’m not growing out of anything!”

“Tendou.” He groans good-naturedly but hurries forward, to the clearing that they’re supposed to receive their guests in. “Better not let him hear you say that.”

“It’ll be fine!”

They arrive in the clearing at the same time that the other cygnets waddle in, and Goshiki squawks when he sees Tendou being put down. “Not fair, not fair!”

He flies up to Matsukawa, shifting as he goes, but the dryad is ready, and catches the boy when he falls out of the air. “Issei, you’re not supposed to carry Tendou-senpai!”

Matsukawa smiles and ruffles his hair. “You’re not a baby either, I’m not supposed to carry you.”

“But what if I wanna?”

“Tsutomu. Behave yourself.”

The stern voice makes both of them freeze, and Matsukawa quickly sets the boy down, catching the other boys shifting to human form as he does so.

“Sorry, Washijou-sensei.”

The old man sniffs and turns his gaze on Matsukawa, but he knows better, and fixes his eyes firmly on the ground as he approaches. They face each other, and it is a funny sight, how the tall young man looks smaller than the aged one before him.

“Matsukawa.”

“Yes, Washijou-sama.”

“I know the boys are rowdy, but you will not give in to them any longer, do you hear me?”

“Yes, Washijou-sama.”

“Good. Take your place.”

He bows and walks to the back of the flock, standing straight and schooling his face into a neutral mask.

It is not long before their guests arrive – a raucous bunch, a murder of crows screeching their entrance – and Matsukawa scans their ranks as they shift, searching, searching, for the only one that matters.

The head of the murder approaches Washijou, bowing and thanking him. Matsukawa tries his hardest to listen in, waiting for the news.

“…our dryad is accompanying a few weaker members of our flock, and will join us soon.”

He relaxes as soon as he hears those words, infinitely relieved.

“Very well. I will get one of the saplings to wait for them. The rest will be accompanied to this flock's tree, where you may take some time to refresh yourselves.”

The crows bow and thank him again, and then they are released, Matsukawa running to get their recently acquired sapling before turning back to his tree to make his guests welcome.

He can feel the ruckus before he arrives, a disturbance in the higher branches where the swans never roost. He leaves his flock to their routine, and ascends to the crown, listening in on their conversation.

“Will Hana be okay?”

“Shush, shush. I’m sure he’ll be fine. Asahi will protect him and Yamaguchi.”

“But dryads are supposed to protect us.”

“ _Shush._ They are good to us, and we will be good to them, alright?”

It doesn’t sit right with him, how the younger seems to think that dryads are _supposed_ to protect them, and it is the older that sees them as sentient beings. He steps out of the trunk, bowing, and asks how he can assist them, pretending to be the good servant that he’s meant to be.

\-----

_“It’s a warning of what is to come. Shifters are partially human too.”_

_The children look at him with confusion, but the noise is getting louder, so he pulls them close and whispers._

“Iwaizumi-kun! They’re here! They’re here!”

Iwaizumi sticks his head out, nodding in acknowledgement, then points downwards. The kitten meows loudly and flings himself off, and he panics, jumping back in and skidding out at the bottom, ready to catch the child.

The kitten shifts right before impact, and they slam into the ground. Iwaizumi thinks his back is broken, but runs his hands over the boy instead, prodding and poking until he’s certain there are no injuries. Kuroo snickers when his inspection is over and gets off him, running to join his fellows.

It is several seconds too long before Iwaizumi rolls onto his side and gets up, hobbling to stand behind his charges. No one pays him a second glance except Kenma, and even he looks back to the front quickly as their elders approach.

“You will be polite and respectful, even though this is supposed to be a ‘fun’ gathering,” Nekomata tells them. “If any of you are overly rowdy and break your dryad, we do not have a replacement as of yet.”

Kuroo raises his hand then, and Iwaizumi feels dread pool in his stomach.

“But what about Watari?”

Nekomata doesn’t look at Iwaizumi, but his knees nearly buckle from the weight of the elder’s radiating disapproval. “Watari,” he pronounces the name with disdain, “Is not fit for this litter. He will be reassigned, once another group of shifters is willing to take him.”

_No. No, no, no–_

_Not reassignment. He didn’t do anything wrong._

_He is a sapling, he is innocent._

_Please. Please._

“Oh.” Kuroo retracts his hand, pouting a little, and Iwaizumi feels a stab of resentment for the children’s ignorance and blind cruelty.

A screech interrupts his thoughts, and they all look up to see a flock of owls circling and descending, but no dryad to be seen. Iwaizumi wilts a little, because while he had known, he does wish differently.

He keeps his eyes lowered as the elders exchange greetings, watching out for his charges, but not paying too much attention to their visitors. It’s not until he hears a screech of indignation and a hiss of protest that he pushes between the owlet and his kitten – it’s Kuroo, of course it’s Kuroo – but the damage is done.

“Bokuto, what did you do?”

Iwaizumi half-turns from the owlet with the pepper-streaked hair, inspecting Kuroo for injury. He doesn’t seem to have any, but upon turning back, he notices three faint scratches on the owlet’s cheek.

“Nothing! He scratched me!”

“You came too close!”

“I wanted to say hi and play!”

“You didn’t have to come so close!”

“Iwaizumi.” The elder’s voice makes the children clam up, and he rises, walking over to Nekomata and kneeling.

“Sir.”

“Who is hurt?”

“The owl child, sir.”

There is a contemplative silence, and he feels the muscles in his shoulders tense up, strung tightly, waiting for his punishment.

“Yamiji, he is yours. How would you like the dryad punished?”

The owl elder says nothing, and he hunches further into himself, waiting for the disciplining.

“…we would ask for the injury to be returned to the dryad, once from each of the flock.”

Iwaizumi tries to hold back his wince, but he can already feel the tears of frustration pooling in his eyes. He blinks them back, takes a few deep breaths, and moves to kneel in the circle of owlets.

“One peck each. Bokuto can go first, to show how hard the cat scratched him.”

“But sensei–”

“A punishment is a punishment. Would you like me to bring the same punishment to your dryad?”

The owlet does not answer, and Iwaizumi exhales slowly as he lifts his arms.

“No. Dryad, lower your arms. As it was an injury to the face, so you too will be injured on your face.”

He tries to suppress the terror in his heart, and raises his head.

He never knew children could look this bestial.

\-----

“ _You are dryads. Tree spirits. Nothing of humans, nor will you ever be._

_“When roses bloom on shifter skin, you will know that it is time. It is_ their _time, their time to fall down.”_

_“Sensei?” Their voices are lilted with even more confusion, but he only envelops them in a hug._

It is the end of the second day, and they are already battered and bruised from trying to keep their children from too much injury outside of the allocated war games. But it seems like they _want_ to be injured, and one time, Hanamaki hears the cygnets talking.

“They’re not supposed to let us get hurt right? So what happens if we provoke the other side into fighting?”

“Satori, don’t pick a fight with the crows.”

“But we’re bigger! Stronger! And if we don’t fight, how will we know who’s better?”

“That’s what the war games are for. Keep trying to fight outside of them and you might kill Issei.”

“Nah, if we get hurt, it’s _their_ dryad that suffers.”

“Why would you want their dryad to get hurt?”

“Because we get to do the hurting! I heard the elders talking yesterday.”

Hanamaki has to hurry away then, one hand clasped over his mouth, as if he would be sick. But dryads can’t throw up, so he dry-retches into some reeds, laying on his side and panting.

_They are children. How are they so cruel?_

_So this is how they get their children to grow up to be monsters like them._

_Maybe it’d be better if they fought, and I am tortured until I die._

_But who’d watch over my flock then?_

“Hanamaki.”

A large hand grabs his shoulder and rolls him over, until he is nose-to-nose with his fellow dryad, his old friend, his nursery-mate. He can barely see in the dark, but Matsukawa’s eyebrows are turned down, his eyes sad and drooping. He bites his lip and shakes his head, pressing their fingers together.

**_Did you hear them?_ ** **_Did you hear them?_**

**My flock, or yours?**

**_Are they saying the same things?_ **

**Yours isn’t so sadistic.**

**_But they want to fight?_ **

**The little one, he does.**

Hanamaki has to lean in then, pressing his mouth against Matsukawa’s skin to muffle his sob.

**_I should have known. He’s too eager to prove himself._ **

**My Goshiki is that way too.** He feels a hand in his hair, and the touch is so familiar – the similarity of skin on skin, not shifter skin, but dryad skin – that he feels tears leak from his eyes. **But Tendou is out for discord and blood. He’ll be a vicious leader one day.**

**_I can’t take it. I can’t, I can’t._** The tears stream freely now, wetting skin and shaking his body. **_They are children. They aren’t supposed to be this cruel._**

**I know.** His mental voice is weary, heavy with anguish and pain.

**I know.**

\-----

_“When the plague comes for the shifters, they will be stricken, because they know not the medicines for it. When the plague comes for them, you will be free.”_

_Their elder is wrenched from them, and they are knocked out, eerie flames the last thing they see._

Oikawa struggles to stand, his legs too weak to support him, his arms not strong enough to pull himself up.

He can’t return to his tree like this, or it will sicken – is already sickening – but there is nowhere he can go. He can barely see straight, and even if he could get to the sapling he knew Fukurodani acquired just a day prior, he isn’t sure the child would be able to help.

He trips over a loose rock and goes down again, the pain in his splintered side grounding him, maybe for good. The sky is already dark – the second? third? day after the flock has left, after he was punished for being too familiar with his charges.

_“Do not ever forget again. You are a tool. Dispensable. You may be on good terms with the flock now, but they are not yours to father. You are a_ slave _to the Fukurodani clan, and it is high time you remembered that.”_

_The owlets charge in then, their hesitation from before completely disappeared in the face of an opponent – never mind that he is their guardian, the one who took care of them since they were hatchlings._

He wheezes, feeling the cracks in his skin widen, and clutches at the withered grass by his head.

His vision is darkening again, and he feels a stab of sadness that he will never get to see his nursery-mates at least once before he goes.

\-----

_He wakes in an unfamiliar place, but the tug in his chest reassures him that at least, his tree is not far from him._

_“Oh, you’re awake.”_

_Harsh fingers lift his chin, and he stares into hard eyes, not a shred of kindness in them._

_“You are ours now, sapling. And you will serve until you are no longer able to.”_

He feels a stirring near the canopy, and steps out of the trunk, limping towards the commotion. He may be injured beyond easy movement, but it is still his duty and his job to take care of the guest flock while they remain.

He finds the owlet who first caused trouble with Kuroo that first day – Bokuto, his name was – sitting alone, kicking his legs sullenly. He stops a distance away, rapping on the branch to let him know he is there. “Hey.”

The child jerks a little, his eyes glowing in the moonlight, before he relaxes and beckons him closer. Iwaizumi sidles towards him, keeping some distance between them when he sits.

They stare at nothing for a long while, and he listens to the ragged breathing of the shifter child, wondering what could cause him to be this way.

“Iwaizumi? Can I sit with you?”

He jerks and stares – he is _asking?_

“Alright.” He lifts his arm uncertainly – it’s his job, it’s his job – and the child scoots under it, pressing up to his side and sighing, his whole body relaxing. Iwaizumi hesitantly curls his arm around him, but the child does not seem to mind, so he holds him a little tighter, in case he falls off.

“I miss Tooru.”

Iwaizumi freezes.

“I wish he could’ve come,” Bokuto continues, his voice sad. “But Yamiji-sensei said he’s not supposed to be so nice to us so he made him stay behind as punishment.”

**Learn your place.**

He shakes the voice off, suppressing his shudder, and asks carefully, “Did he get any other punishments?”

He feels the shrug, how nonchalant it is. “The usual. One bout of practice attacking from each of us. Or was it two?” The boy dissolves into incoherent mumbling, but Iwaizumi is rooted in his place, stiff and unyielding.

_Two bouts of practice attacks. Maybe more._

Flashes of memories, of the past few days of the owlets taking out their punishments on him because their dryad is not present, they flash into his mind, and it’s like he is reliving each injury, each affliction to his body.

_Roots and sky, I am_ so _sorry, Tooru._

“Iwaizumi? You can go now.”

He releases the boy slowly, standing carefully and bowing backwards as he leaves. He is too stunned to pay more attention, too horrified to think of much more.

He feels more acutely the aches in his own body, the cracks in his skin, and he thinks about how much worse it is for his nursery-mate, who lives and takes care of them every day.

_I am so sorry._

\-----

_He is left in isolation for a year, until he is big enough, strong enough, and then the younglings are brought to him._

_“Raise them like your own. Any harm that befalls them will be on your head, and anything that they are unhappy with will be your punishment, decided by them._

_“You are their comfort and their practice block. Best that you choose what you prefer to be to them.”_

He is tired. So tired.

It has only been a week, and yet the cygnets and the crow chicks are no less vicious, getting smarter and more aggressive every day. He hardly returns to his tree any more, for he can feel himself sickening, and if he dies, so does his tree, and the shifters will have no place to roost.

So while they stay dry and warm, he huddles with Hanamaki in the reeds, drawing strength from each other’s closeness, reminding each other that they cannot die, they _cannot_ die, because if they do, his replacement sapling will be tortured instead, and they cannot have that.

“What is he like? The sapling.”

“Kunimi is bored and lazy but he has a strength that comes from holding back. He will hold out for longer against their punishments, but it will tire and kill him slowly.”

“He sounds like a good one. My Kindaichi is so skittish, the chicks would break him too fast.”

“I hope he never has to be tortured like us.”

“…you mean the promise?”

“Aye.” They are silent, their breaths laboured with pain, their skin not healing as it should. “I hope it comes soon.”

“But can you really wish that on your flock?”

Matsukawa cannot reply.

\-----

_He loves them. Even as they break him, even as they are taught to be cruel and evil by taking it out on him, he loves them._

_How can you not love something that you raised, that you’ve seen grown from hapless babes?_

_(But by night he sings the rhyme, praying for a disease that will take away their barbarity.)_

“Oikawa-san. Oikawa-san.”

He cannot see, cannot breathe, cannot recall anything.

“Oikawa-san, you have to wake up.”

He is so tired, he hurts everywhere.

“Oikawa-san, they are coming home.” The voice breaks, and he hears a sob in it. “Please, Oikawa-san. Don’t make me replace you. I’m not ready.”

He drifts away, sometimes rising, sometimes falling, the tiniest tendril of awareness unfurling, so gradually surfacing that he isn’t sure how long it takes before he responds.

“Yaha-chan?”

\-----

_Ring-a-round the rosie_

_A pocket full of posies_

He holds a hand over his mouth, the other resting against his tree, and he can’t see, can’t feel his fingertips anymore.

\-----

_Ashes! Ashes!_

He sees him fall first, in the midst of the latest round of beatings by strengthened beaks and wings.

He cries out and jumps into the fray, taking his place, protecting him.

\-----

_We all fall down._

He sees them, he sees his owlets returning, sees his sapling standing by, waiting.

He whimpers, but gets on his knees, gets to his feet, and walks forward.

\-----

“Our childhood,” the voice calls out, filled with unwavering strength, even as the saplings and the dryads around it are crumbling, their skin cracked and leaking sap, their fingers and faces in tatters.

“We remember the promise given to us, we remember the song of our leaders.

“We take comfort in the prophecy to come, in the prediction that your cruelty will be repaid, wound for wound, pain for pain.

“And when the time comes,” the voice pauses, one beat, two beats – and around it, heads raise, like flowers lifting their heads for spring, “When the time comes…

“We will stand by, and we will watch you suffer.”


End file.
